


It Will Have to Be

by alexcat



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:57:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/pseuds/alexcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gildor meets someone completely unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Will Have to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Larian Elensar  
> For Keiliss

IT WILL HAVE TO BE 

Meeting Maglor again was the last thing that Gildor had ever imagined. He had always thought that Maglor had probably died in some of the havoc he and Maedhros had loosed upon Arda in the end. He thought that perhaps all the Fëanorians had deserved their ugly endings. 

Even Maglor. 

Gildor had ridden to the shore some several miles north of the Grey Havens. He and his band had been in a skirmish with a band of Orcs the night before. Their losses had been few but the battle had raged for hours. Gildor lost count of the Orcs he plunged his sword into long before the fighting ceased. The rest of the night had been spent in burning the great pile of Orc corpses. 

His men had settled around the horrid bonfire to watch but he could not and so he rode out into the still dark morning. He rode his great grey steed up the coast, the morning mist as thick and heavy as his soul. Killing any creature was hard for him, even an Orc. He had long ago lost count of the many he had killed. 

The mist began to clear as the sun rose, and he saw a lone figure standing by the shore. At first he thought his eyes deceived him but as he drew closer, he saw that indeed they did not. 

It was Maglor. 

He reined his horse in and stared at the dark robed figure. Maglor looked out at the sea. Gildor pulled the reins to turn his horse about when the figure turned.

“Gildor Inglorion? Is that you?” Maglor shouted across the sound of the waves gently sloshing against the sand.

Trapped, he thought. He’d hoped he could just ride away and pretend he’d never seen Maglor. 

“It is. And you are Maglor, the son of Fëanor. I had never thought to see you again.”

“You had thought me dead is what you really mean?” 

Maglor walked toward him as Gildor dismounted and stood beside his horse as if to run on a moment’s notice. 

“That too.” 

“What is it that brings you to this stretch of beach? I have been here undisturbed for many years.” 

“I was weary of killing Orcs and sought some peace and quiet. Have you lived here all these many, many years then?” The beach was not far at all from Cirdan’s Grey Havens, the departure point for those who finally decided to leave Middle Earth behind. 

“I have been here for quite a long time, since Gil-Galad lived, actually.”

“Does Cirdan know you are here?” 

Maglor smiled a rather bitter smile. “Very little escapes Lord Cirdan. He has forgotten more secrets than you or I will ever know.”

“And he keeps your secret?” 

“Not out of any love for me, that much is certain.”

“So why do you stay here?” Gildor couldn’t imagine where Maglor *could* hide even as he asked the question.

“One place is as good as another. I live near the sea, I have plentiful food, and my little home is warm and cozy. What more could I ask for?” Oddly enough, Gildor could detect neither sarcasm nor bitterness in Maglor’s reply. 

“I suppose you have more than me. My band and I have never had much more than the clothes on our backs and our music.” Gildor had forgotten for a moment that Maglor too was a musician and singer, perhaps the greatest of all. 

“I have missed music. I play and sing but have heard no other play in many years.” Maglor looked almost eager. “Would you play for me in payment for a hot meal and a quiet place to rest for a few days?” 

Gildor couldn’t believe his ears. He had come from Aman to Arda when Maglor had but even then, Maglor had been known far and wide for his musical genius. It was even said that not since Ilúvatar sang the Valar into existence had anyone made music so sublime. And Maglor asked *him* to play?

He nodded to Maglor. 

“Come along then. Your horse will be fine. There is fresh water and a lovely meadow not far from my house.” 

Gildor removed his gear from the horse’s back and told him to rest. Maglor helped him carry the load and they made their way into a small patch of woods a mile or so back from the shore. 

Maglor’s home was a small cabin set back in the forest. It was almost hidden by the trees and flowers that grew all around it. The flowers reminded Gildor of his mother’s flowers back in Aman. He missed his family so much, even after all these years. 

Maglor held the door open for him and Gildor found himself smiling as he entered. One wall was covered from top to bottom with different musical instruments: harps, lutes, flutes, and even a small drum. There were even instruments that Gildor had never seen before. 

The rest of the cabin was homey and warm with a small fireplace on one wall. He also had a small cooking stove that was vented out into the chimney. There was a table with two chairs and on the opposite wall was a small bed made up with a comforter that looked like it had come from Aman too. 

“Have a seat and I will put the kettle on for tea.” 

Gildor was a loss for what to say. He had expected, well, he was not really sure what he had expected but this cheerful homey little cabin was not it. 

“Why have you stayed so close to elves?” Gildor found himself genuinely curious.

“Where else would I go? I am an elf. Here, I catch a glimpse of another elf now and again. I sneak into the Havens now and again and leave Cirdan honey from my bees. I help lost travelers find their way when I can. I sometimes disguise myself as gypsy elf and play for a wedding or celebration. It’s not what I wanted for myself but it is probably more than I deserve.”

Gildor was taken aback. Somehow he’d never thought his distant cousins could be so … normal. He remembered the horror of the ice, the Kinslaying…the evil Feanor’s sons had done. Those were not easy things to forgive or forget. 

As if he’d read Gildor’s mind, Maglor said, “I chose to take the Oath and it possessed me, it and my love for my father and brothers. I cannot lay blame on anyone for my own actions nor will I even try. I cannot change the past nor will dwell on it. Today is all I have.”

The water was hot and Maglor poured the tea, handing Gildor a cup and sitting down with the other cup in his own hand. Gildor noticed the scars. They were faint now and old but he knew they were the scars from the Silmaril, for it could not be held by anyone who had done such deeds as Maglor and his family had done. 

Gildor looked away. 

“They don’t hurt much anymore. The pain has faded over time just like the scars,” Maglor said as if he’d read Gildor’s mind again. 

Gildor was surprised to find himself liking Maglor. He had liked him many years ago when they were young and in their homeland but he had expected the other elf to have changed more than he had. Maglor had always been forthright and honest. He was known as a gentle soul and what Gildor saw now seemed to be the gentle soul he had know before. 

He said little as he sipped his tea, content to let Maglor chatter and a bit amused by it. He’d have thought Maglor would be tired of the sound of his own voice. Gildor knew how to listen well. Not only was he a gypsy musician but he had acted as spy and messenger too, all because he knew when to listen and when to speak. 

“Tell me of your life, cousin,” Maglor finally asked. 

Gildor did. He told of how he and his band of companions moved freely about Arda and even among men almost as if they were invisible, watching and reporting, usually to Gil-galad and then to Cirdan. 

“Tell me of Elrond. Is he well?” Maglor leaned forward in his chair, anxious to hear from the elf he had raised, along with his long dead twin, Elros. 

“He is. He still lives in his Imladris with his sons, when they are about, and his lovely Arwen. She is as beautiful as Lúthien too.”

“How long will he stay before he sails?”

“War is coming, I fear. The Orcs’ numbers are growing and something is awakening in Mordor. Galadriel says the days of the elves are becoming few. I believe we all shall sail when Sauron in vanquished, when men prove that they are capable enough to take care of Arda.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them because he knew that Maglor was cursed to stay here in Arda, to never see his homeland again. 

“I would love to see him again… even from afar. He was such a good child.”

Gildor decided to change the subject. “What shall I play for you?”

“You alone know what is your best work. I shall enjoy anything, no matter what.”

Gildor rose and went to the wall. “May I?” He gestured to the instruments on the wall.

Maglor nodded. 

Gildor took down a flute. He touched it from one end to the other, caressing it as if it were alive then he put it to his mouth and played a few test notes. The he began to play a slow, haunting melody that he had written after Celebrian had sailed. Maglor listened for a bit then took a lute down from the wall and began to play with him, the string instrument adding to the beauty of the song. 

They played song after song, changing instruments as need be and finally Maglor began to sing. He sang a lament but this lament was not for the Silmaril. The lament was for his father and his brothers and the loss of his homeland. Gildor laid his instrument down on the table and sat, transfixed by Maglor’s voice. 

Neither of them spoke for a long while when the song was done. 

Finally Maglor smiled and rose. “I am afraid I have been remiss in my manners. You must be hungry for more than tea. I have some bread still warm on the stove and honey from my bees. Would you like some?”

Gildor could only nod. The bread had been wrapped and set upon the still warm stove. Gildor smiled as he dripped sticky sweet honey on it. He closed his eyes to savor the taste. 

“Your bread is as good as my mother’s.”

Maglor smiled. “I have had lots of time to practice.”

After bread and honey, Gildor played again though he was sure he would never play or hear any song that could compare to Maglor’s lament. Maglor joined in again but they managed to keep the music light and cheery. Maglor even danced once as he sang along with a tune from Aman that they’d all learned as young elves. 

Evening came and the sun began to sink finally. Gildor did not want to return to the mountain of smoldering bodies but he didn’t want to impose o Maglor either. He began to ready his gear to go find his horse.

“You must stay until morning. I have fresh fish that I caught last night ready to wrap and roast. It would be nice to have company for dinner. You can bed down here in front of the fire. I have many soft blankets and quilts in the closet.”

Gildor simply nodded. Maglor’s hospitality and his eagerness for company made it impossible to leave just now and he found that he didn’t want to leave anyway.

The fish proved to be as delicious as the bread had been earlier. Maglor had made a bowl of fresh vegetables as well for them, lettuces and some nice mushrooms along with onions and carrots. Gildor ate and ate until he felt as if he’d pop. 

“I have seldom had such food! I am used to nuts and berries and whatever game we have time to kill and roast.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it. It has been awhile since travelers came through. The Orcs have made folk afraid to travel about much.”

Gildor nodded. He had seen the same thing. 

After dinner, they talked of home, talked of Aman as it had all those years ago. They did not talk of today at all or how they got where they were. They talked of swimming holes and music lessons and long days with nothing to do but play with all the others of their age. They did not speak of the fact that there were less than one could count on one hand left here. 

Gildor bedded down by the fire and surprisingly fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Maglor never even lay down. He watched his companion sleep, memorizing every detail of Gildor’s face. 

Morning came sooner than either of them wanted. Gildor packed his belongings and readied himself to find his horse. Maglor made tea and warmed some bread for breakfast. 

When Gildor got ready to go, he stepped outside and quietly called his horse’s name. The horse was there almost immediately. 

He turned to tell Maglor goodbye and found that he did not want to go. He wanted to stay and sing more songs and tell more stories and perhaps even kiss Maglor’s lips just once. 

Maglor stepped close put both hands on his shoulders. He leaned close and barely touched his lips to Gildor’s.

“Goodbye, my friend. I do not know if I shall ever be allowed to go home. I have committed grievous crimes and deserve the punishment of never seeing my home again but who I really miss is my mother. Will you tell her someday that I am well and that I love her dearly? Will you tell her that she was right? Give her this.” He held out a ring on a chain. It was set with a jewel the color of Maglor’s eyes exactly. “She made one for each of us. This one is mine.” 

“I promise.” 

Maglor nodded and watched as Gildor mounted his horse and rode out of sight. 

*

Many years later on a distant shore, Gildor Inglorion kept his promise. It was his first act since they landed here from Arda. 

Nerdanel lived alone in a house by the sea. She worked in metals and stone as her father and husband had done and her jewelry was still coveted by those of Aman. Her beauty had changed little since elves age so slowly but her eyes were old and sad. Her sons were gone as well as her beloved husband. 

Gildor was shown into her drawing room and told to sit while the servant called her.

“Hello,” she said from behind him as she entered the room.

“I have a message from Arda for you.”

She raised a brow for as far as she knew for sure, they were all dead, even Maglor. 

“Several years ago, I had dinner with Maglor and he bade me tell you he misses you and to tell you that you were right.”

“How do I know you are telling me the truth?”

He handed her the ring. She looked at it and at him. She slipped the ring on her finger. “Is he well?”

“He is.”

“Then that is enough for me. It will have to be.” 

They talked for a while about Maglor and Gildor left her, returning to his own mother, who wept tears of joy to see her son again after so long.

Afterwards, Gildor often found himself wondering where Maglor was and what he was doing. Perhaps he would see him again someday. 

Perhaps…

~end~


End file.
